


Luck of the Parker

by sdottkrames



Series: A Jolly Holiday (with you, Pete) [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Irish Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, St. Patrick's Day, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 07:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdottkrames/pseuds/sdottkrames
Summary: Peter really wants to go to the Avenger's St. Patrick's Day party, so when he wakes up sick, he ignores it and goes anyway. Luckily his Mentor/Dad is there to make sure he's okay!
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: A Jolly Holiday (with you, Pete) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994710
Comments: 14
Kudos: 98





	Luck of the Parker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [happyaspie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyaspie/gifts).



> Hello, dear Happy! I saw this prompt that an anon sent you, and you commented that you would totally read a fic like that, and I knew I HAD to write it for you :) I hope that this little sickfic gift makes you smile. You've certainly made me smile many times as I've hung out on your blog and AO3. You are such a lovely person, and I'm so glad my little circle has touched yours! Happy St. Patrick's Day!
> 
> Irish Phrases:  
> Ar ndóigh (er no-ee) - of course  
> Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit (law lay Paw-drig suna gite) - Happy St. Patrick’s Day

“Wait, your mom was born in  _ Ireland?” _

Steve chuckled at Peter’s widening eyes as they entered the compound after their morning run. Peter had stayed the weekend and was one of the few people who could keep up with Captain America’s enhanced pace. “Yeah, she was. She and my dad had me after they emigrated here.”

“Can you speak Gaelic?”

“Ar ndóigh,” the supersoldier answered. He pronounced the words with such ease even though it’d been many, many years since he’d spoken the language with his mother. (He did talk to Friday in Irish whenever he was alone, though, so that probably helped.)

“Woah. That’s so cool,” Peter gushed. “So, did they come over because of the potato famine? I heard that a lot of people emigrated from Ireland because they were starving and needed work.”

Cap couldn’t help but chuckle again, grabbing a towel as they entered the training room bathroom and headed to the showers. “No, that was closer to my grandparent’s time, but my parents did come over to find work, though there wasn’t much of that available here, either. They moved shortly before the depression.”

“Yeah, that’s tough. Do you have a favorite Irish song?” the spiderling’s excitement made him jump from one topic to the next, but Steve just found it endearing. He leaned on the wall by the showers, giving the teen his full attention.

“I’ve heard this newer group,  _ The High Kings _ , and they’re really good. They sing one of my favorite songs my mom used to sing to me, actually. Ar Eireann. It means ‘For Ireland’.” 

“That sounds pretty. Did she make lots of Irish food?”

“Yeah. I loved her Irish Soda Bread, colcannon, boxty cakes. I’m planning on making them on St. Patrick’s day. You’re coming to the party right, Pete?”

Peter wouldn’t admit it, but he’d had a countdown in his phone since the day the man had given out invitations. No way was he missing his first party with the Avengers! He nodded enthusiastically.

Steve smiled. “Good. It wouldn’t be the same without you, kid.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder and pretended not to notice the pleased blush on the teen’s cheeks.

Once Peter had showered, he headed up to the kitchens. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” he greeted the man behind the counter making eggs.

“Hey, kiddo. Good run this morning?”

“Yeah! Cap runs fast, and it’s kinda really cool that I can actually keep up with him.”

Tony chuckled as he stirred the dozen scrambled eggs in the pan, all of them made for the resident growing spider-baby. “Glad to hear it. Somebody’s gotta keep old stars and stripes humble.”

“Did you know his mom was born in  _ Ireland _ !?” Peter exclaimed in admiration, ignoring and pretty much undermining Tony’s previous comment.

“So much for keeping Steve’s head from getting too big,” the older hero muttered, scraping the eggs onto a plate and handing them to Peter.

“You’re coming to the party on St. Patrick’s day, right, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s face softened. “Of course, underoos. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Peter has had a countdown for the party for the last month and a half,” Friday interjected from the ceiling. “There’s 7 days and 8 hours left.”

“Friday!” Peter groaned, his face going red. Tony just chuckled.

* * *

“Karen how many more days until the St. Patrick’s day party?” 

Peter was on patrol, perched high above New York City as his suit scanned for people in need of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He’d already chased down a run-away dog (getting snuggles from said dog, which was the greatest thing to happen to him that day), as well as a couple burglaries and a guy being mugged. But the last hour had been quiet.

“4 days and 4 hours. Two days less than the last time you asked.”

“Did Tony purposely make you more sassy during the last update?” the spiderling quipped, but without any real heat.

“I believe he did. Right after installing sarcasm.”

“Very funny,” Peter said, grinning underneath the mask. Karen was a good companion.

“Why are you so excited for the party?” she asked.

“Well, it’s the first time in a while that all us avengers will be together. Even Thor and Loki are coming. I guess I’ve missed everyone. We’ve all been pretty busy, so I'm just excited to see everyone and hang out.”

“Sure. You love them.”

“Yeah, I do,” the teen said, smiling. “Well, you got anything for me yet, Karen?”

“Not at the moment, Peter.”

“Dang it,” he muttered. “I might head home. Keep scanning for me, though, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

As Peter swung home, the streets of New York still silent, his mind wandered to school and his friends and he remembered that Ned hadn’t been in class that day.

“Hey Karen, call Ned Leeds, please.”

The phone rang twice before Peter’s guy in the chair answered.

“Hey dude. Missed you at school today."

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling really well. I think I’ve got some type of flu or something.” Ned’s voice was weak and scratchy, and his nose was obviously stuffed.

“Do you want me to swing by? We can watch a couple episodes of The Office.”

“Nah, I don’t want you to get sick. I’m okay, seriously.”

But then he started sneezing and blowing his nose, and the spiderling could tell that his friend was very much not okay and just didn't want to admit it.

“Ned, I haven’t gotten sick since the spider bite. I’ll be fine. I feel like you could use some company.” Ned started to protest again, but Peter cut him off. “Besides, I’ve got all my homework done, May won’t be home until after dinner, and patrolling is quiet so I’m heading in anyway. Really, you’d be doing me a favor by keeping me company by letting me keep you company.” The teen on the other end of the line laughed, which morphed into a thick cough. “Yeah, that didn’t make sense as much as it did in my head, and no laughing. That cough sounds nasty. I’m coming over, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

There was a beat and then, softly: “Thanks, Pete.”

“Anytime, man. I got your back like you got mine.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

So Peter changed course to head to the deli near the Leeds’ house where he bought a bowl of chicken soup (according to Ned, they made the best) before slipping through his best friend’s open window.

“Did someone order chicken noodle with a side of spider?”

Ned was curled up in bed under about 3 thick blankets, a small pile of tissues and a hand sanitizer on the bedside table.

“Hey, man,” the sick teen greeted, shifting from his near-fetal position to a more upright one.

“Hey,” Peter greeted. He opened the soup container and spoon and handed both to his friend before settling onto the bed with him. “What are we watching today?”

“Whatever you want,” Ned said around a mouthful of soup.

“No, you’re the patient, you get to choose!”

“Fine. Let’s watch The Office’s St. Patrick’s day episode. It feels appropriate for right now.”

Peter smiled and pulled up the show, glad that he had nothing else to do but help his guy in the chair for the next couple hours.

* * *

The alarm on the nightstand had always been annoyingly loud, but it had gotten even worse after the spider bite. It jarred the spiderling’s senses, waking him up with a near heart attack every morning, but he’d been too attached to “Simon” to get rid of it. Everything had changed for the better when May told Peter that the alarm volume could be adjusted. All had been well since then.

Until this morning.

The incessant beeping didn’t jar the teen like before, but his brain seemed to throb in time with the noise instead. He groaned, and the action caused his throat to twinge painfully. 

_ Seriously? Why does everything hurt!? _

Forcing past the pain in his head and throat and his legs to get ready for the day, Peter hopped in the shower, the scalding water momentarily giving him some relief from the terrible body aches, then dressed in his comfiest sweatshirt. (Yes, it was Mr. Starks, but nobody except him needed to know that). Some time while getting ready, it occurred to him that he probably was sick because he’d spent that time with Ned the other day. 

_ That’s what I get for being overconfident in my spider skills _ . 

The spiderling hoped that he didn’t look sick, but that hope was quickly dashed as he entered the kitchen and scrounged around the cupboard for instant oatmeal.

“Hey sweetie, you feeling okay?” May asked almost immediately.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Peter answered, lying through his teeth. His aunt would keep him home if she knew he was actually sick, and he was not about to miss out on the day he’d literally had a countdown for for the last two months. It was St. Patrick’s Day. He was going to that party, no matter what his body decided.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Don’t overdo it, okay?”

“I’m fine, May, I promise,” he assured her, quickly finishing his breakfast before giving May a kiss on the cheek and rushing off to school. 

He had hoped that getting up and moving would get his body to stop hurting so much.

He had hoped that class would distract him from the pain.

He had hoped that during patrol, the warmth from his suite would help.

But Parker luck being the opposite of Irish luck, none of that actually happened. 

The pain radiating from all over Peter’s body nearly distracted him from the knife being aimed towards his side. Nearly. Luckily, he did have some sort of luck as he felt a tingle go down his neck, telling him to turn and block the blade.

“Not cool, dude,” the spiderling quipped, but his voice was tight with the pain that hadn’t left all day, so he didn’t sound quite as cavalier as he wanted. He quickly grabbed his attacker’s wrist and twisted slightly, just enough to sprain it and get the guy to drop the weapon. “Now  _ lucky _ for you- get it? St. Patrick’s Day? Luck?”

“Seriously?” the mugger asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What? Everybody loves puns!” Peter protested as he webbed the attacker to a wall, Karen already notifying the police of the man’s location.

“Not everybody,” the man muttered.

The spiderling handed the handbag that had caused the whole dispute to its owner, a nice-looking lady with a short brown bob and kind blue eyes.

“I like puns,” she whispered, accepting her handbag and placing it over her shoulder. “Thank you, Spider-Man.”

Beneath the mask, he smiled. “You’re welcome, ma’am. Are you alright? Would you like me to walk you home?”

Biting her lip, she nodded, so Peter did, focusing only on her as they walked the streets of New York and willing the pain to fade to the background. It worked until she was safely behind a locked door. Then the pain returned full force.

_ Not today, body. We have a party to go to _ , he thought determinedly as he swung through the city towards his home after patrol. Happy was picking him up to take him to the compound for the party, and he wasn’t going to be late.

It took every ounce of self control for the teen not to change into his pajamas and curl up in bed when he got home. There was a heat behind his eyes from the headache throbbing with every heartbeat, and his whole body protested each move he made with a wave of pain. He wanted nothing more than to just lay down with May or Mr. Stark until he felt better. Which, with his super healing, would probably be by tomorrow, but at the moment, tomorrow seemed like an eternity away.

The thoughts of Irish food and music and time with his pseudo-family were the only things that got him through his body’s mutinous refusal to magically fix the sickness  _ right now _ until Happy picked him up.

“Hey, kid,” the driver greeted. “Uh, not to sound rude, but are you feeling okay? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Happy. I’m just a little tired, is all. I had a few tests this week and they must’ve taken more out of me than I thought,” the teen lied. Well, he had had a couple tests that week, and he was definitely tired, but that wasn’t the reason he looked sick.

Happy simply nodded, and turned on some soft music that he knew would put Peter to sleep for the entire car ride to the compound, smiling softly in a way that nobody would ever see when the kid let out a small snore as his head bobbed against the headrest.

“Peter,” the driver called an hour or so later as they pulled into the compound. “Wake up, kid. We’re here and I am  _ not _ carrying you up to the lounge.”

The teen stirred groggily and rubbed his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he murmured through a scratchy voice. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it. You obviously needed the rest.”

The pair entered the compound and Friday greeted them cheerfully, taking them up to the lounge floor without needing direction.

“Enjoy the party, Peter. I know you’ve been counting down the days.”

“Friday, I swear Mr. Stark programmed you to tease me about that at every opportunity ever since he found out.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny this.”

Peter grinned. “I know, but that reply was answer enough.”

The spiderling was feeling better after having rested a little bit. So much so that he was able to actually enjoy the food and company. 

The compound’s lounge had been totally decked out with green shamrocks and gold streamers. A rainbow tablecloth protected the table from the generous spread of traditional Irish dishes Steve had made and set out for everybody to taste. It all smelled amazing, and the sound of lively Irish music set the atmosphere perfectly. Peter wished he knew enough (and felt well enough) to do more than tap his foot in time. There was just something about the happy jigs that made him want to dance.

“Hey, Pete.  Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit!” Steve greeted.

“I assume that means ‘happy St. Patrick’s day’?”

The man nodded, pleased. “That’s right. Go ahead and try as much food as you want. We have enough and to spare, so don’t be shy.”

“Okay, thanks, Cap.”

The teen wandered over to the food table and ladened his plate with a small helping, unsure what would taste good in his less-than-100-percent state. But he took one bite of the Colcannon (a mixture of mashed potatoes and cabbage, topped with green onions, bacon, and butter) and almost moaned. The soft texture and the warmth from the potatoes warmed him from the inside out. He quickly went back and doubled the amount he’d previously taken.

_ Anybody who doesn't think mashed potatoes are a comfort food is dead wrong. _

Peter’s brief nap had taken the edge off his miserableness, and he was able to sit down for the most part, which also helped. He was quite pleased that he’d kept the fact he still felt like crap from everybody else. Especially a very overprotective mentor-turned-dad. All was going well until Clint threw Natasha, who luckily had already changed into her bathing suit, into the pool and the party moved to the water. 

The pool was heated, for which the teen was grateful. He eased his body onto a nearby floatie (one of the insanely comfortable ones shaped like a chair) and snuggled in happily. The warm water lapped at his feet and rocked the chair back and forth, and that combined with his pleasantly full stomach and the cheerful sounds of his family laughing soon lulled him back to sleep.

* * *

Tony was actually enjoying himself. The accords were taken care of, Thanos had been eliminated with minimal damage, and all his family (yes, that included the Avengers) were safe and sound. Especially a certain spider-baby.

The genius was watching as Bucky climbed atop Clint’s shoulders to battle against Steve, who was perched on Natasha’s, in a game of chicken. He was silently calculating the odds of who would win when he suddenly noticed something that immediately set off alarm bells in his head.

His spider-baby was asleep.

Unperturbed by the noise of the game of chicken that was happening mere feet away, or the water being splashed onto him, or the way his head lolled from side to side with the small waves created by roughhousing avengers, Peter was knocked out cold. Like, completely dead to the world. 

Tony knew that could only mean one thing: his kid was sick, and that was not okay with him.

Everything else faded away. The music, the decorations, the laughing superheroes playing in the pool; they all disappeared. His sole focus was on his boy, who was obviously not feeling well because he was silent and unmoving, and Peter Parker was  _ never _ still. Especially now, when he should be bouncing around with that teenage-boy energy, talking a mile a minute and eating half his body weight in delicious Irish food. Instead, he was curled up on a plastic floatie.

_ I can do better than that _ .

Tony got up from his spot at the edge of the pool, placing his plate of goodies to the side and ignoring the creak in his knee.

“Hey, Steve,” he called, and the supersoldier looked over from where he was gearing up for a rematch, this time against Sam.

“Yeah?”

“Could you, uh, hand me Peter?”

Steve’s eyes lowered to where the kid was bouncing against the edge of the pool on his floatie. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Of course,” he said, flipping off Natasha’s shoulders. He quickly swam over, carefully lifting the teen up until he was safely in Tony’s waiting arms. The spiderling gave a small whimper but quieted when he felt the warmth of his mentor and nuzzled closer, making said mentor’s lips curve into an incredibly soft smile, and everybody watching nearly cooed at the sight. 

“Is he alright?” Steve couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t think he’s feeling good. I’m just gonna take him to the movie room.”

The others nodded, and Tony carried the sleepy spider-baby to his room.

“Hey, Pete. Time to wake up so you can get dry and comfy, bud,” he murmured, gently rubbing circles into his kid’s incredibly soft curls until the boy’s eyes blinked open.

“Mr. Stark?” he rasped, and they both winced at the rough sound.

“Oh, bambino, that doesn’t sound good. Let’s get you comfy, and then we’ll get you some of that tea Pepper drinks that you like.”

The teen nodded slowly, foregoing using his voice, and slipped into the bathroom to change out of his wet bathing suit and into the soft sweatpants and t-shit Tony handed him. When he emerged from changing in the bathroom, the older hero took one look and felt his heart clench. Peter simply looked miserable.

“Aw, kiddo, come here,” he opened his arms, and that was all it took for Peter to break. The spiderling curled into his father-figure's embrace with a small sob, craving the comfort and needing the reassurance that came from the contact.

“I don’t want to miss the party, but everything  _ hurts. _ ”

“I know, buddy. I know.” 

Tony ran his hand through his kid’s hair until the boy’s cries subsided. “Sorry. I can just head to bed now, you don’t have to stay here and miss the party, too,” he whispered.

“Pete, if I didn’t want to take care of you, I wouldn’t be here. You're not inconveniencing me in any way. Besides, if I wasn’t here, nobody would be able to make sure you avoided getting pinched for your complete lack of St. Paddy’s day cheer earlier.”

Peter looked down at what he was wearing and, sure enough, it was one of his green t-shirts. The sweatshirt he’d been wearing that day had been grey. 

“Oh, and that reminds me. We’re going to have a little chat about your wardrobe thievery, because I definitely recognized that sweatshirt,” he teased.

Peter blushed, but gave a small smile, and Tony watched in relief, grateful that he’d been able to make his kid smile and dispel some of the misery he’d seen before. He had no doubt that a mushy fondness was written all over his own face, but he couldn’t find the energy to care, because it was  _ Peter _ . The boy who’d broken down all Tony’s walls before Tony had even realized what was happening, and then it was too late. He was suddenly a dad. And it had terrified him, but they’d gotten past it together, and now? Now Tony didn’t care if Peter saw him mushy and soft.

“Okay, underoos,” he said, breaking from his sentimental train of thought. “Do you really want to go to bed? Or would you rather join me in the theatre room for some bread pudding and a movie. I’m pretty sure the others would even join us, if you’re up for it.”

“That sounds nice. Can I claim the big fluffy blue blanket?”

Tony ruffled his kid’s hair with a chuckle. “Whatever you want.”

The pair made their way to the movie room, and sure enough, all the other Avengers had changed as well and were settled in to watch.

“Peter should pick,” Steve said. “He’s the one not feeling well, so he gets to choose.”

The spiderling grinned, remembering when he’d said nearly the exact same thing to Ned a few days earlier.

“Well, since it’s St. Paddy’s Day, we have to watch  _ Luck of the Irish _ . It’s a classic.”

“I don’t think Disney Channel Original Movies count as  _ classics _ , underoos, but sure. We’ll watch the cheesy kid movie,” Tony teased, having been educated on DCOMs by Peter months ago. 

“Don’t disrespect the Disney Channel, Mr. Stark.”

Everyone chuckled as Friday pulled the movie up. And sure it was cheesy, but nobody was paying that much attention. They were all too busy watching the smile that didn’t leave Peter’s face until he finally nodded off again, tucked safely into his father-figure’s chest. And when he woke up, he did feel better, not only from the rest, but the knowledge that he was loved and cared about by amazing superheroes that had become like family.

Maybe he really did have some luck, after all!


End file.
